For those of you wondering why Sunday is throwing up, fear not. Sunday regurgitation occurs every Sunday, when I re-publish a prior post of mine, because I am trapped under something heavy and am unable to write anything original or riveting. Hopefully someone will notice I’m missing, remove whatever is suffocating me and I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow. But just in case you never hear from me again … think of me fondly.
I am so totally sick of this weather I could just spit.
Except that I hate spitting. I think it’s disgusting and I don’t understand the compulsion to hork up a wad of saliva and snot and God knows what else and spew it forth onto the planet at a spot where my feet are bound to tread.
Why not just cop a squat and defecate while you’re at it?
My ex husband spits.
That would be one of those hindsight things.
Anyway, this weather rots. It’s the middle of July and it’s either pouring buckets or cold.
It’s not that I’m a big fan of heat and humidity, because I am SO not. It’s just that I live in New York and deal with snow six months of the year. I don’t think it’s asking too much to have an actual, real, live, summer for two months, complete with continuous hot, rain-free days and mild nights which don’t make me stomp to the closet and yank my fleece coat off a hanger with a resounding WHEN THE HELL DID WE MOVE TO ALASKA? I deserve two months out of the year to hibernate inside my air conditioned house and stand at the kitchen window watching the kids in the pool while loudly complaining to no one in particular WHEN THE HELL DID WE MOVE TO THE AMAZON?
I leave you with my post from last year Did we move to Florida when I wasn’t looking?
Happy Sunday, everyone!
Did we move to Florida when I wasn’t looking?
I’ve been to Florida a couple of times and the one thing that struck me the most about that state was the unpredictable weather. It was a constant surprise, much like my hormones lately. It would be raining one minute and then sunny the next and then before you could blink, you’d find yourself in the middle of pounding hail and then it would snow and the next thing you know, you’re being whisked to the nearest ophthalmologist because your eye sockets just burned to hell and fell out of your head from the heat. No seeing Mickey at the happiest place on earth for you.
I don’t live in Florida. I live all the way up the east coast in New York. And yet, I could swear I’m in Florida because our summer weather is having an identity crisis and can’t decide on which season it wants to be and I wish it would just hurry up and get over itself already because I’m tired of carrying around an umbrella and sunblock and boots in my purse.
We used to have somewhat consistent summer weather. It used to be that when the morning was sunny, you knew you’d be blasting the AC all day and throwing the kids in the pool and having your husband grill that night because just the thought of cooking on the stove was enough to make you rip out your third vertebrae with a fork.
It used to be that when it rained in the morning, it rained for the entire day and then some. Inevitably, this would happen on a weekend. You could bet money on it. Once the first raindrop fell, you knew the whole day was shot and you moved your party indoors, you canceled your beach plans and your cranky husband would stand in front of the window and watch the grass that he couldn’t mow suck up all the rain and grow exponentially so don’t go complaining to him when it gets so high that Helena gets lost in the front yard because there’s nothing he can do about it because of the goddamn rain.
And we could pretty much count on a two week heat stroke in July when the lawns would brown and blacken and your cranky husband would stand in front of the window and watch the grass burn to a crisp and ask you why he spent half his life seeding, fertilizing, weeding and mowing a lawn that was just going to up and die a horrible death anyway so don’t go complaining to him when our front yard sparks and erupts into a fireball because there’s nothing he can do about it because of the goddamn sun.
A whole day’s worth of rain or a whole day’s worth of beastly sunny heat was something you could bank on, just like having your kid come down with pink eye before all thirty of your relatives arrive for Christmas or your car’s transmission exploding one week after your warranty expired on the very day you are scheduled to pick up five girls from hip hop class. You learned to depend on this kind of stuff.
The weather is chaotic, unpredictable, schizophrenic. Much like my computer. It does what it’s supposed to some of the time and then it decides to get a burr up its ass and go ape shit for a bit, then it calms down, then it decides to screw with your head again for awhile until you beg for mercy and then it goes back to doing what it’s supposed to do just to psyche you out until next time, which could be anywhere from five minutes to three days.
Take the other day, for instance. I took Helena out to Target to look for some birthday invitations and craft ideas for her party coming up later this month. We’re only about four miles away from Target so it takes less than ten minutes to get there.
When we left our house, it was sunny and beautiful. After about one minute, I saw something ahead of me and no sooner did I start to say to Helena “hey, does that look like rain to you?” when the sun was obliterated by a ginormous black cloud and there was a lightning bolt that lit up the sky clear on over to the next county. Then came a serious crack of thunder so loud that it scared the bejesus out of me and I nearly drove the car off the road and straight into this beautiful new house that I had recently admired. I hoped one day to see the inside of that house but somehow I pictured myself making acquaintances with the owners and being invited over for dinner rather than coming unannounced, gutting their front yard and smashing into their foyer with my Honda.
Then it poured. Then it stopped. Then it was sunny. Then it hailed. All within the next mile stretch of road. When we finally came upon Target, everything had settled down and it was once again sunny and gorgeous. Target’s windows looked shiny and clean and I could see all the goodies inside and I took that as a sign from God to run through the doors and spend all sorts of money.
After about twenty minutes, Helena and I happened to look outside those shiny windows and saw one side of the parking lot in full sun and the other side in gray, pouring rain. Just like a split personality. It reminded me of … well, me.
Who said that? Not me. And not me either.
Our car happened to be parked in the section that was burgeoning into a flood zone so I took that as a sign to visit Starbucks in the sunny section and order some strawberry and cream frappuccinos and lemon ice cake.
After fifteen minutes, the entire parking lot was once again in full sun so we walked outside and immediately our noses froze and fell off our faces because the temperature had dropped about 65 degrees. I stepped into a puddle that was about a foot deep and my flip flop took on water and proceeded to squish and squash and squeak and I took that as a sign to go to Famous Footwear and get some new ones.
When we emerged, it was overcast but this time with sweltering heat and if I hadn’t noticed Helena breaking out in a sheen of sweat as well, I would have thought I was having one of those premenopausal hot flashes in which case I was fully prepared to run into Cold Stone Creamery and jump into their ice cream case. But they had a line running out their door and I took that as a sign to look elsewhere for relief and we headed next door into Old Navy for some immediate air conditioning. While there, we saw some cute tank tops and picked up a couple for Helena.
Eventually we made it back home where we noticed that only half of the grass was mowed with the lawn mower abandoned in the middle of the yard and someone was having a snizzle fit because the damn weather couldn’t make up its damn mind what to do and for shit’s sake, is it too much to ask for one damn hour of straight sunshine so someone didn’t have to hop off the damn mower and seek shelter every damn five minutes?
I took that as a sign to order a pizza because I knew someone wasn’t a happy camper and wasn’t going to ready to grill anything anytime soon.
I’m telling you, this weather better get its act together because it is just killing my budget.